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Obsession

Flames burn between a hardboiled cop and a gifted artist,
but soon extinguish as another man’s obsession ignites into an inferno of
desire, driving him to destroy the object of his madness.

Chapter I

Friday The 13th

Brooks Range

October 13th

Powerful arms carried her; the
same arms that moments ago held her under the ice-cold water of the Koyukuk
River. Sarah shouted for help. Her abductor laughed. She screamed again, and
louder, the effort scarring her throat like a flame swallowed but not
extinguished.

“Shut up, bitch, there’s no one out here going to help you.”
The monster laughed, and the noise kept her from descending fully into the
depths. She grappled for lucidity. Seconds later, he threw her like a sack of
shit onto something hard. Her head smashed into metal. Darkness threatened to
consume her.

A slammed door rattled her brain in an explosion of noise and
pain; she fought to clear the haze obscuring reality. Sarah struggled to move,
but her arms were tightly bound at her sides. Her eyes were open but all she
saw was darkness.

Panic climbed from her toes to her chest and every muscle
tightened in fear. Her lungs struggled for air. Her old nemesis,
claustrophobia, fought for control of her senses. She coughed, and foul river
water exploded from her mouth and flowed down her neck and chest. Fighting her
deepest fears, Sarah knew she had to suppress the panic surging through her
gut. She prayed for strength and willed the desperation gone.

With control over her breathing, she achieved some semblance
of awareness and realized she lay on the backseat of a vehicle, her naked body
cocooned securely in an animal hide. She felt the cold of the Koyukuk on her
skin. Her hair, a mass of slime, was like melting icicles against her back. Her
body flamed with a chill that burned so deep she thought Freon flowed through
her veins. Panic built until oblivion consumed her.

Minutes later, she came to and slowly reaffirmed her
location, but wondered if they’d drugged her again.Struggling against
the beckoning darkness, she used every ounce of courage she could muster to
pacify each synapse telling her life depended on fight or flight. She realized
her head now rested on the lap of a stranger. His arms held her firmly in place
while the vehicle bounced over rough ground. "Welcome To My Nightmare"
blared from surround-sound speakers.

Her captors laughed and sang as though
Alice Cooper had penned their theme song. Blackness won again, but the next
time she came to, she heard the voices of the people responsible for her
anguish.

“God damn it. What fun. Went like clockwork. The boss will
be pleased.”

She recognized the voice of the man who abducted her, Yurij,
an ugly brute, a Russian, who spoke perfect English and had the manners of a
flesh-eating troll.

His girlfriend, Gladys, had the same hostility as her
fiancé. She responded with irritation, “We’ve done what he asked. Tell me it’s over
and we don’t owe him anything else.”

With those words, Sarah
remembered details. Memories―cloudy, violent,
and terrifying―rushed forward.
The air warmed, and her body shook involuntarily from chills that generated
deep inside. The arms around her tightened, and the man who held her leaned
close. He uncovered her face. She recognized him as the only kidnapper with any
compassion.

“Be still, or they’ll drug you again. You’ll be safe soon.
Don’t fight. Do what they say.” He tightened the blanket around her and rubbed
her arms to help ease the shivering. He wrapped her hair in a towel. His
efforts to make her comfortable failed. “Keep cooperating and everything will
be fine,” he repeated, as though she had a choice.

She focused on his deep brown eyes, but the drugs they’d
given her stole the last remnants of her resolve. “Please tell Steven to
hurry.”

The darkness summoned and she unwillingly surrendered.

The Curse Continues…

With each footstep deeper into the forested wilderness of
the Brooks Range, Steven released the stress from his body and mind. The cool
air, the resonance of water rushing to cut a path south, the movement of small
animals in the brush and birds in the tree tops were a soothing melody to a
soul too long absent from his true home. If he’d been a poet, he might have
noticed the creaturely serenade, the stately trees standing at attention as
though in line for his inspection, or the raven sitting on the tallest tree,
observing his quiet incursion. So deep in thought, Steven noticed the moose,
but only after the sounds of breaking branches and hooves hammering the ground
startled him.

The animal ran deeper into the thicket and Steven knew his
opportunity to fill the freezer had just escaped. He smiled when he realized
he’d just disappointed his Tlingit and Irish heritage by letting the moose get
away. Steven prayed this disappointment wasn’t an indication of future events.

The wind gusted, then floated like a lazy spirit among the
treetops. He swore he heard cries for help coming from the south, but shook his
head, denying the possibility. When he heard the same plea a few seconds later,
he stopped moving and listened. Had he just heard Sarah calling his name? Not
possible, not out here, especially since Sarah, his fiancée, had flown to
Seattle. The wind settled and the ghostly cries disappeared. He shook off the
feeling of being haunted, stretched his stiff muscles, and decided to call the
hunt over. The sun, obliterated by clouds filled with snow, caused dusk to
settle fast in the forest.

His last night at the log cabin, and Steven still hadn’t
made a decision regarding his career. The job offer from the FBI left him in a
quandary, and Sarah did not make his decision any easier. She left their future
to him―promising her
full support no matter his choice. He could stay lead detective in Anchorage,
join the FBI and head up their new serial crimes division, or change direction
altogether and follow his childhood dream to become a tracker and guide. Their
future rested on his shoulders.

Despite the falling darkness, Steven caught sight of the
cabin, the old logs hand-hewn by his grandfather. The river rocks gathered and
stacked to perfection had lasted over one hundred years. The cabin had served
him and his friends well for hunting and fishing, but Steven had turned his
grandfather’s masterpiece into the perfect honeymoon retreat. He’d practically
rebuilt the place, taxing muscles and sweating each detail while remaining
determined not to disturb his grandfather’s footprint. He’d added rooms,
insulation, triple-pane windows, a master suite with a fireplace,
top-of-the-line appliances, bathrooms, colorful carpets and antiques mixed with
new furniture, and he couldn’t wait to show the rustic retreat to Sarah. The
cabin would be their sanctuary and his wedding gift to her.

Steven had taken a week off work to finish putting the final
touches on their honeymoon cabin and to make that all important decision
regarding his job, his future with Sarah. He’d fallen for the talented artist
during one of his biggest cases, but stress had separated them for over eight
months. His work and a lack of communication between them had caused Sarah to
break their engagement. Despite his mistakes, she forgave him and agreed to
marry him on December 31. Their recent makeup excursion in Paris was the best
two weeks of his life.

They shared a romantic meal atop the Eiffel Tower, giggled
their way through the Louvre, made love in the 15th century hotel across the
Seine from Notre Dame, and hiked the garden paths hand in hand. Even though
Paris was perfect, Sarah had agreed to spend their honeymoon in the wilderness.
Steven had done most of the work on his grandfather’s old gold mining cabin
over a year ago, right before the first wedding date he and Sarah had set. Delayed
because of his job, this time, there would be no delay, not even from the
weather. Sled dogs were on call to get them through a snowstorm if needed.

On the back deck, Steven
ran his hands over the ancient logs, thinking of Sarah and their shared goals.
He turned his back on the cabin and contemplated the Koyukuk River flowing just
yards away. In a few weeks, the river would freeze over, and in preparation, Steven
had already protected the water lines. He studied the wilderness around him and
listened to the night sounds. The howling of a wolf brought him full circle. He
shook off his doubts when he realized spending time here, with Sarah, would
make this home, and he wondered if she’d consider living in the wilderness
full-time.

This contemplation brought him to his decision. Family would
come first. He leaned against the timber rail and smiled to himself. Tomorrow
he would fly to Anchorage, his trip a success and his future assured. He would
stay at the job he enjoyed with the woman he loved by his side. The FBI offered
a new challenge, but with children to consider, and his and Sarah’s love of all
things Alaskan, staying with his job in Anchorage became the only choice. A
breeze blew his hair across his face; he pulled the long raven tresses into a
ponytail and whistled “You Are My Sunshine” while he envisioned his reunion
with Sarah.

“What do you say, Grandpa, to little ones running around,
climbing the trees, and fishing off your dock? You’ll love Sarah; she’s real,
Grandpa, grounded.” Steven knew he was the luckiest guy alive. Convinced after
his first marriage failed that love and family would never be his, he became
taciturn, job oriented… and then he met Sarah.

The drone of engines ended his mystic discussion. Steven
strode to the front of the cabin, and two large Police Interceptor SUVs slid to
a stop, spraying gravel indiscriminately. Several sharp stones hit him in the
shin. “What the hell?”

Four police officers all wearing official winter parkas
exited. The fifth, Helen Gabble, a coworker and one of the most competent
detectives he knew, stepped out of the lead vehicle. She wore her
Anchorage-issued jacket, too light for the deep north, and her shivering was
proof. Helen, an attractive woman, never emphasized the fact while at work. She
never wore makeup or did anything other than pulling her hair from her face,
but usually, she dressed more appropriately for the weather. Having come this
far north unprepared for the cold told him she’d made the journey unexpectedly.

“Helen? What’re you doing all the way out here?” Her flushed
face and set jaw told him something big had gone down.

“We need to talk.” She waved at the other officers. They
stopped their movement forward. The cops in Helen’s SUV, Shawn Terrell and
Grady Kelly, Steven knew. They nodded in greeting.

“Hey, Shawn, I thought you’d be in Hawaii surfing?”

“Not this year; I’m married now.” The hunky blond pulled off
his glove and held up his ring finger to show a gold band.

Grady Kelly, a lean Black man, laughed heartily at the
question and Shawn’s response. “Yeah, his surfing’s been replaced with honey-do
lists. You’ll understand soon, Detective.” Kelly gave Terrell a friendly shove.
“My Candy’s looking forward to your New Year’s Eve wedding. It’s all she talks
about, that and shopping for the perfect dress.”

Steven patted him on the back. “The party of the year,
guaranteed.”

Terrell and Kelly joined the other two men, both strangers
to Steven. Steven acknowledged the men with a nod, but his focus resettled on
Helen. “Talk? You brought an entire team out here to talk. Is something wrong?
Is Sarah all right?”

“Sarah’s fine. I just … God. It’s cold.” She put a handful
of tissues to her nose, Steven assumed for warmth.

She continued talking from behind the tissues. “We called
your satellite phone, even tried to reach you by radio. Where the hell have you
been?”

“Hunting. Sorry, I left the phone behind. What’s going on?”

Helen ignored his question. “But you’re empty-handed?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t into it.”
He took the gun off his shoulder, tried to relax.

Helen reached out. “May I?”

“Sure.” He handed her the rifle, then rethought his actions
and her questions.

“Wait a minute, why?”

“Just curious.” She examined the gun. “A 30.06. What were
you hunting?”

“I’d planned on getting a moose, but got so stuck in my head
the moose saw me first. You know, Helen, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this
was an interrogation.”

“Just making conversation.” She handed the gun to Terrell,
who sniffed the barrel, unloaded it, and gave the rifle to another officer.

“Can we go inside?” She pulled up the collar of her jacket.
“It’s a bit raw tonight.”

“Of course.” He saw the other officers eying his property,
nodding their heads. Something was going on, despite her denial. “We’ll need a
fire.” He chose a few prime logs from the towering woodpile, every log stacked
in the past couple days. “I don’t understand. This is odd, you guys rolling in
like this. What’re you really doing here?”

“When my teeth quit chattering.” She wrapped her arms around
herself and stomped her feet. “There’s something wrong with the heater in the
SUV. I’m frozen.”

Steven laughed. “You’re
the one in charge. Give the dud to the rookies.”

“I don’t work that way.”

“I’m kidding.” He studied
her suspiciously, then gave the men the same treatment. A chill no fire would
warm shot through him. “Let’s go inside.”

Evening settled fast, the snow fell steadily, and he knew a
deeper cold would hit once the clouds cleared. Steven fumbled to find the key,
but Helen twisted the doorknob of the massive pine door, and the door opened
with a light push.

Helen glanced at him. “It’s not locked.”

“There’s no reason to lock doors this far out in the
wilderness.” He tried to usher Helen inside, but she let Terrell and Kelly
enter first. They scanned the large room and waited for orders. “You’re all
welcome.” He studied the other two burly officers, who lagged behind.

“They can wait outside. Relax,” she told them, but Steven
caught her signaling an order to search. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut.

When they stepped into the cabin, Steven went to the
fireplace, surprised to see plenty of hot coals awaiting new logs. He soon had
a new fire crackling. He studied the flames, buying time to think. What’s
happening? Why a posse this far north?

When he stood, he caught Helen whispering with Terrell and
Kelly. He didn’t like subterfuge. Their presence sullied the place. This was
Sarah’s and his place. Two lamps lit the large, comfortable room with its deep
brown cloth couches and bright Indian rugs. Who the hell turned them on?
He ignored his unwelcome visitors and went to the small galley kitchen. The
aroma of freshly percolated coffee filled the room. Coffee, how, when? The
scent of perfume vied for attention. What in the name of God? He
wondered if he’d stepped into a different universe.

Helen placed a hand on his shoulder. “I thought you just got
back.” She scanned the room, eyebrows raised. “Wow, you’ve made some significant
changes. It’s homey. Looks like something you’d find in Girdwood.” She unzipped
her jacket.

He hated the amusement in
her voice. Girdwood was an insult―a tourist trap
south of Anchorage. Alyeska catered to those with the idea that roughing it
included a deluxe cabin. Yet he had to admit, that’s exactly what he’d turned
the place into for Sarah’s comfort.

Steven kept his face impassive, hiding his irritation.
“We’re planning a three-month honeymoon in the dead of winter. Sarah deserves a
comfortable retreat. I’ve been out all day. I can’t explain our reception.
Someone must have stopped by. When I left this morning, the fire was out, the
lights were off, and the last of the morning coffee went into my thermos.
Whoever stopped by started the generator, something I should’ve noticed
sooner.”

“There’s the Wiseman mining camp twenty miles south. Several
folks winter there. I hired two men from there to help me get this place in
shape. Maybe they stopped by.”

He’d spoken the words for their benefit, but his gut wasn’t
buying it. The two men he’d hired, he’d paid. They planned to spend their cash
in town today. He moved around the room checking for clues to the caller’s
identity. Neither of those workers had a key, and he knew he’d locked the door.

“Terrell. Kelly. Look around,” Helen ordered.

“Stop!” Steven shouted.

The officers froze, eyeballed Steven, but looked to Helen
for orders.

“No one does anything until you tell me what the hell you’re
doing here.” Steven wanted answers.

She waved them on.

Terrell and Kelly went about their jobs.

Helen’s hazel eyes widened with impatience. “Honestly,
Steven, can’t I pour myself a cup of coffee? The guys are just going to make
sure we don’t have any unexpected visitors.”

Steven blocked Helen’s access to the coffee pot. “Talk.
Now!”

Unfazed by his attitude, Helen sidestepped him. “Give me a
second to thaw out.” She removed her skullcap and smoothed her hair back, but
nothing she did could control the wispy tendrils. Frustrated, she undid her
ponytail and ran her fingers through her dirty blonde, unruly hair,
refashioning a tighter ponytail.

Although Helen cared more about her reputation than her
appearance, Steven recognized the gesture as nerves and wondered what made her
so uncomfortable. She grabbed a cup from the sideboard, and although fully
aware of Steven’s impatience, she waited for him to step aside and give her
access to the coffee pot.

“Shit!You can be one cold bitch when you want to
be,” Steven grumbled.

“Comes with the job! Now move.” She bumped him with her
elbow.

Steven let Helen win the tug of war. He strode into the back
hall, removed his pack, and slung it on the hook by the door. Then froze. His
gun wasn’t in the holster where he left it. Had Kelly taken it? Furious, he
removed and hung his jacket beside his pack. He felt like a trapped animal, his
senses on alert when he rejoined Helen.

Helen had poured her coffee. She’d settled on a bar stool
and wrapped her hands around her mug, still seeking warmth. She took a sip.
“This is good. You want one?”

He shook his head, grabbed the other stool across from her.
“Talk, please.” Maybe using sugar instead of
intimidation would get him answers.

She sighed. “Okay.” She gulped a large mouthful of coffee
and put the cup down on the counter. “The Captain sent me because he knew you’d
cooperate with a friend.”

He noticed her emphasis on the word ‘friend.' “Cooperate?
Why?”

She removed a document from her coat pocket. “Read this. I
have a few questions, but honestly, all I want is for you to return to
Anchorage with me.”

Steven took the document, scanned it. “A search warrant.
Regarding what? The Captain has my schedule. I’m due in the office Monday. Why
drive all the way out here? Damn it, Helen. What the hell is going on?” He
stood.

“Two women are dead. We have witnesses putting you with them
just hours before they died.” She placed two pictures on the counter. “Do you
recognize them?”

He scanned the photos. “Sure, I had a drink with her in
Anchorage. April, I think she called herself.” He pointed to the other picture.
“I bought her dinner after her car broke down, at the Bull Moose Diner in
Fairbanks. What happened to them?”

“Strangled, dumped on the side of the road. So, yes, we’re
here searching for evidence. Preliminary forensics ties you to them. Did you
sleep with them?”

“Strangled, what are you accusing me of? Sleep with―you actually believe―” His anger escalated with
each word. “I’m your suspect?”

The door burst open, and
John and Eddie Thomas came barreling into the room with two officers on their
heels. Helen gave the officers a nod, and a wave of her hand and they left,
closing the door behind them.

John Thomas, a large man approximately two hundred and
seventy-five pounds, six-foot-seven, and his brother, Eddie, of similar height,
but svelte, didn’t even wait to catch their breath. They immediately shouted,
“Is she here?”

“Who?” Steven and Helen spoke simultaneously.

“Sarah!” the men echoed.

John shouted, “Is she here?”

Steven stepped nose to nose with John. He had come north
because Sarah was safely in John’s care. “She’s not here. Explain.” Steven
glared at his friend.

Eddie went to his brother’s side. John’s shoulders slumped.
He stepped back, settled onto the arm of a chair, and took a deep breath. “I
took Sarah to the airport, put her on the plane. An agent met her at Boeing
Field, but that evening I got a message she was on her way here.”

“Why? What happened in Seattle?” The air suddenly seemed to
disappear from the room.

“I don’t know. The message suggested you were in trouble.”
John took his cap off and rubbed his crew cut as if he had a severe itch.
“Sarah actually said you were both in trouble. We traced her steps. She left
the penthouse shortly after she arrived, took a taxi to Boeing Field, and chartered
a new flight. She’d already ordered the Palmer jet to be ready for a flight to
Anchorage on Tuesday afternoon but apparently couldn’t wait. She arrived in
Coldfoot. Gary drove her here.”

“When?”

“Monday night.”

“Monday? Not possible.” Steven shook his head. “Four days
ago, no. I went to Deadhorse to straighten out a delivery problem. I drove
there and returned early Tuesday morning, but Sarah wasn’t here. No one was
here. Someone’s lying.”

“Well, it isn’t my brother.” Eddie stepped forward.

John held up his hand to stop him. “We double checked
everything, Steve.” John removed his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket.
“Gary dropped her off around midnight. We’ve been trying to reach you for the
last twenty-four hours. Since when don’t you answer your phone or radio?”

“My phone hasn’t rung once.” He stomped to the fireplace and
took his phone from the mantel.”

Helen snatched it from his hand.

“The radio’s been on since I arrived. I’ve been busy, but―” Steven studied John and
realized his friend never expected, never considered Sarah wouldn’t be here.
John couldn’t seem to get his bearings. He’d lost his balance.

Eddie simmered with anger. His hands on his hips and his
scrutiny penetrating, Steven realized no matter the problem, Eddie blamed him.

Confusion turned to anger, but suddenly something clicked.
“The fire, the open door, fresh coffee, damn it, her perfume. Why didn’t I
recognize her scent? Sarah’s here?” Steven started for the stairs, but Terrell
had just descended them.

“I haven’t located the duffel bags, Detective Gabble, but I
did find this.” He held a negligee, white lace, and silk. Bright red stains
flashed like a neon light. “The blood is still wet.”

Steven pushed Terrell aside and raced up the stairs yelling
Sarah’s name. He scoured the room and saw the overnight bag, her clothes
hanging in the closet, and her toiletries sitting on the dresser. Her perfume
was overwhelming, but Sarah was nowhere in sight. Then he saw more blood on the
rug by the fireplace. He drew closer to investigate. The handle of a Bowie
knife glinted in the dull lantern light, stuck amongst the wood stacked on the
side of the hearth. Is that mine? He reached for it, but Eddie entered
the room. Eddie’s gaze went straight to the bed. Steven’s followed.

“There’s more blood on the rug and castoff on the wall and
ceiling above the bed.” He pointed to it. “There’s evidence a woman was here.
Her things are in the bathroom and closet.”

Helen examined the claw-foot tub, prominent on a pedestal in
front of the picture window overlooking the Koyukuk River. “This is a nice
touch. The old loft’s been turned into a comfy honeymoon suite.” She ran her
hand along the inside, pulled moist fingers to her face, and sniffed.
“Expensive bath oil. Sarah’s?”

Helen asked Steven.

Steven nodded and watched in disbelief, but he could not
comprehend the how.

“I don’t understand. Why isn’t she here?” He thought he
knew what was coming next, but when Helen pulled down the bedclothes, Steven’s
knees buckled. He grabbed the fireplace mantel for support. “Sarah.” Her name
came out painfully.

“This isn’t possible. None of this is possible.” When he
grabbed the mantel, his fingers landed on an object. Without looking, he knew
he held her engagement ring. He clutched it tightly. How? How can this be
here?

Blood covered the pillow and sheets so thick, light
glistened on the surface. He realized someone had died a brutal death in the
honeymoon bed he built.

“Where’s her body,
Steven?” Helen demanded. “What happened here?”

“I… I don’t know. I wasn’t here. Sarah’s never been here―”

Steven saw the disbelief,
the accusations on all their faces, and then Helen reached for her handcuffs.
He reacted without thinking. He shoved John and took off running. John went
down hard, blocking the steps.

On the first level, Steven grabbed his jacket, backpack, and
fled out the back door while his pursuers were still on the steps. He had the
sense to grab his snowshoes hanging on the porch. He had to think, had to get
away from what would be immediate incarceration, but running into the
wilderness without a survival kit was suicide. They’d judged him, deemed him
guilty. He needed to figure out what had just happened. Where’s her body,
Steven?

He fell to his knees. What am I doing? I can’t run. I
didn’t kill Sarah. I’m a cop. Someone’s framed me for murder. Oh God, Sarah.
Voices behind him had him hesitating, but just for a moment. I have to
figure this out. Once I have the answers, I’ll surrender.

He started running, but all he could see was the
blood-filled bed. No one could survive that kind of blood loss. Four days.
Where had she been, where is she now? She’s not dead. She’s not. She can’t be.
We have a future.

He recalled the cries for help he’d heard earlier. His heart
pounded like a drum. Was that you, angel? The possibility tumbled inside
his head. With great effort, he blocked his thoughts of Sarah. He needed to
concentrate on his next step.

He could hear them behind him, but he knew the area and they
did not. He quickly outdistanced them. He wanted to lead them south to Coldfoot
and then Fairbanks. He knew he could buy some time if they had to search all
the vehicles moving on the haul road. He wasn’t worried about leaving tracks.
He wanted them to follow, and once he’d deceived his pursuers, he would head to
Sanctuary: his uncle’s cabin high in the mountains.

Helen inspected the crime
scene, then used her satellite phone to call Captain Reed to report Steven’s
escape, Sarah’s disappearance, and possible death. John and Eddie were now
under scrutiny.

Helen paced in front of the fireplace, observing the two men
seated before her. Their resemblance caught in their deep brown eyes and sharp
jaws. John, someone familiar with stressful situations, seemed to have reached
the end of his rope. He stared at the flames but didn’t see them. His hands
rubbed tight knuckles. Eddie seemed filled with an energy he had no control
over, like a Jack-in-the-box ready to pop open. His spine was stiff, his gaze
followed Helen’s every move.

“What happened to her bodyguard―what did you say his name was?” Helen stopped
pacing and glared at John.

“Casey Carpenter. He’s disappeared too. We’re trying to
locate him,” John said with no emotion.

“Was there tension between Sarah and Steven?” Helen stayed
close to the fire. The heat felt wonderful. Her first real warmth in
twenty-four hours. She sighed, then caught herself, and moved to the other side
of the fireplace to keep the men off kilter. “Were they fighting?”

“No. They were planning their wedding. Steven’s here to get
the cabin ready for the honeymoon. They were happy. For the first time in two years,
they were really happy.”

Helen knew John, and she could see his apprehension. “Sarah
was a good friend?”

“You say―was―like she’s―” John wiped the sweat from
his forehead. “Yes, she’s a good friend. The best.”

Helen tried to unsettle him a bit more. “Sarah’s the only
person I’ve ever seen get under Steven’s skin. She’s the reason he’s thinking
about leaving the force. Now he’s under suspicion for two, maybe three
murders.”

John stood, but under her glare, he sat back down. “You came
out here to arrest him for those two murders. I thought you were here seeking
his advice, a way to convince him to stay with the force, but you actually
think he killed those girls. You can’t. You’re his friend. How can you believe
he’d murder a stranger? Or Sarah?”

“I don’t want to believe what I just witnessed. Steven’s my
mentor, but I’m handling this by the book.” She threw another log on the fire.
“Domestic abuse is not usually something we know about our friends. Steven ran,
why? He’s a cop, he knows better.”

John dropped his head. “Seeing all that, I would’ve too.”

She turned to Eddie. “I’m curious. You were fixated on the
bed. Did you know what we were going to find?”

Eddie seemed surprised by her observation. “Me? No. How
could I know anything?”

She watched as Eddie nervously twisted the ring on his
finger, then stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Helen kneeled in front of him.

Eddie leaned back. “I had this eerie feeling. Especially
since the room reminded me of a picture I’d seen recently.”

“A picture? What kind of picture?”

“Nothing. Just a déjà vu moment. When I got to the top of
the steps, I thought she’d be there. The way Steven yelled her name. He thought
so too.”

She lifted herself to full height, stretching her back
muscles, and eyed John, but threw the question out to anyone. “Where do you
think he’s headed?”

John shrugged. “Fairbanks? Anchorage? To find the killers?”

“Steven grew up here,” Eddie, reminded them.

Helen caught John’s hostile look, a message for Eddie to
shut up.

“You’re right. He’s a trained tracker.” Helen began pacing
and slammed her right fist down into her left hand. “Damn it! We might never
find him.” She refocused to full control mode. “You two get out of here.” She
pointed to John. “Go back to Anchorage. Check in with Captain Reed. He’s
expecting you. We’ll need a statement and all the information you have
regarding Sarah’s disappearance. I’m trusting you to do this on your own, but
if you prefer an escort―”

“We have a plane in Coldfoot. We’ll cooperate.” John stood.

“Good, but if I get word
you’re helping Steven avoid capture in any way, I’ll arrest you both, and
you’ll not see the light for a long, long time.”

“Anyone is capable, but I have trouble believing Steven
could. Still, the evidence against him doesn’t look good. If this is a frame-up―it’s perfection. Someone
knows exactly what they’re doing.”

Kelly came from the lower
level bedroom carrying Steven’s duffel bags. He dropped them on the table.
“Found them, Helen. Stuffed deep in a closet.” He quickly corrected himself.
“Sorry, Detective Gabble, and this―” He held out a
manila envelope. “The cords for the duffel bags are missing. It’s up to
forensics now. Steven’s been sleeping in there.” He leaned his head toward the
bedroom. “His belongings are in the closet.”

“Really? They were sleeping in separate bedrooms.
Interesting.” She took the packet from his hand. “What’s this?”

“Love letters. Addressed to Sarah. The author is Scott
Chase. The dates are recent. All this past year.”

The officer shook his head. “We have bloody clothes, a robe,
underwear, and a shower curtain ripped to shreds.” He held up the evidence
bags. “There’s a shallow grave, and a trail from the grave to the river, but no
body. Possible a bear dragged the body off. I found a barrel smoldering from a
recent fire. It held boots, a shirt, and pants, barely burned and covered in
blood. We need forensics, and some more light wouldn’t hurt. Maybe destroying
evidence is why Quaid was out back when we arrived. We’re at full stop. It’s
too dark, and the snow is getting heavier.”

“Oh my God!” Eddie stood near the fireplace, gazing at the
ceiling. John sank into a chair, head in hands.

“Forensics is on the way,” Helen assured the officer. She
realized John and Eddie were still present. “I thought I told you two to get
out. Remember what I said. Now go. Oh, and I’ll be calling ahead. We will
search your plane before takeoff. Kelly, make sure no one’s hiding in their
vehicle.”

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